A Beatles FanFiction
by Italicised
Summary: Something I wrote for Creative Writing class. This is just a short story starring the fab-four, and it's no romantic or anything, it's pure comedy at least I hope so! .


2010-March/April/May

**The Beatles in Hawaii**

"We're here." Paul poked his head through the door, looking at the three guys sitting in the plane. They nodded.

"'Bout time."

"I've always wanted to go to Hawaii."

"I never even knew it existed."

"Everyone knows Hawaii exists."

"Guess I'm not everyone."

"You are, you know."

"Well I am now, now that I know."

The four Beatles grabbed their bags and stepped out into the humid air, holding up their hands as the sun shone in their faces. As usual, there was a crowd outside of the plane on the tarmac, interviewers, reporters, and screaming girls - the usual gang. They stepped down, waving and shaking hands as they headed towards the vehicle waiting for them. Vacation time was always nice. No concerts and not as many obsessed fans, at least. Of course, information leaked, so they were still followed around a bit, but not as much. Hopping into a car, they sped off towards the hotel they were staying at.

The next day they headed out onto the beach, carrying their bags and towels; John was carrying a giant umbrella. It was then that they ran into something they should have expected.

"Aw, there's the girls." George observed, pointing to a group trailing a little bit behind them.

"Let's make a break for it." Ringo suggested with a laugh.

"I'll stall them, go go! Save yourselves!" John yelled mockingly, opening the gigantic beach umbrella and running backwards down the sand as he held it like a pretend-shield against the girls. It wasn't long until one of them screamed, "_It's them!"_

They really started running now, but as they reached the water they looked around in confusion, not sure what to do.

"Now what?"

"It's a dead end."

"Is not."

"Right or left?"

"I don't know, someone move."

"We can go forwards."

"Forwards?"

"Yes, forwards!" and with that, the four of them dove into the water while the girls let out several screams.

"Forwards was a horrible idea." Ringo pointed out as they swam into the warm ocean, their bags and towels on the shore now at the mercy of the girls who, having completely ignored them, crashed into the water themselves.

"Who came up with that stupid plan?" Paul asked.

"Pretty sure it was you." John replied with a half-hearted smile as they continued moving along. The girls were still coming after them.

"Swimming all the way back to Britain are we?" George asked, doing a backstroke. They were used to swimming, at least. However, as he asked, they noticed a boat nearing them.

"Fantastic." John snapped as they clambered onto the boat, shaking their hair which was now dripping wet. The driver gave them a wink and then headed towards the dock. It was Mr. Jones, the man who had been hired by their manager to supervise the trip. The girls, upon seeing the direction they were headed in, swam back to shore even faster.

"Our stuff is still there." Ringo protested, pointing towards the little heap of items on the beach, which the girls now crowded around. The boat slowed.

"Oh, great." George drawled, as the girls, looking around uneasily, finally just sat down stubbornly next to the pile. It seemed they were planning on waiting for the four guys to return to get their things.

"What do we do?"

"We could just stay out here in the ocean and wait."

"That could take forever."

"We could leave our stuff and go to the dock,"

"Who knows what they'll do with it if we leave?"

"We could get someone to get it for us."

"Call the police?"

"And how do you reckon we do that?"

"Anyone have a phone?"

"Ha… ha, ha."

"Psh… oh, look!" Paul pointed to the beach, where the girls were now taking off with their stuff, excluding John's giant umbrella.

"How nice of them to leave it." he said jokingly. The boat slowly made it's way back to shore, where they jumped out and stared after the girls, who had disappeared back into the hotel area.

"We can't very well just wonder around the hotel, we'll get mauled!"

"Ah! And that's why we disguise ourselves." Paul had a grin on his face; it was that 'Paul has an idea' look. The others groaned.

Soon enough, the four of them were standing at the hotel lobby. Paul was wearing a pair of black sunglasses and a large beard as well as a large brown coat, underneath which he simply had a T-shirt and a pair of jeans he had purposefully torn up. Ringo was wearing a long wig and a polka dot shirt with a striped tie, and striped pants to match. George had put on a long white beard and a bowler hat, wearing a pair of overalls over his normal clothes. Meanwhile, John had dressed himself up as a lady - wearing a long, though somewhat tangled blonde wig and a robe overtop of his clothes, as well as a pair of white sunglasses.

They looked rather strange.

"We just have to find those girls," Paul said.

"We can't just search around asking for a group of girls, people will-"

"-think we're _up _to something." John interrupted in a haughty voice, bringing down his glasses a bit and fluttering his eyelashes.

"How're we supposed to find them, then?" Ringo asked. Now they were beginning to get strange looks from the people around them.

"Where would they take our stuff?"

"Probably to their rooms." George suggested, receiving blank stares from the rest of the group. "Well," he added sheepishly; it was true.

"What do we do then? Just try every room?" Ringo asked sarcastically, laughing. John, Paul, and George exchanged glances.

Not long after that, the four of them had split up, one on each level of the hotel, knocking on the door to each hotel room pretending to be lost.

"S'cuse me," Paul smiled sheepishly at a very big man who had opened a door. "I got the wrong room." John found himself intruding on a honeymoon couple, and then managed to give them plenty to think about before they had to shut the door in his face. Ringo had gotten an invite to a party at the hotel next door. Eventually, it was George who had found the right room. One of the girls answered the door and stood there blankly, wondering what this old man wearing overalls wanted.

"You've got stuff that belongs to me and my friends." he pointed out. The girl gave him a sceptical laugh.

"I don't even know who you are." As she started to shut the door, George took off his hat and beard as proof.

"See? I'm George Harrison. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take it -"

"OH MY GOD! GEORGE HARRISON!" the girl squealed and screamed, and George took a worried look down the hallway at a few people coming down it, who squinted and then broke into a jog towards him. In a panic, he jumped into the room and shut the door, locking it behind him.

"Oh girls, come quick! George is here! It's _George_!" Four more of them came up, and George found himself stuck against the door, smiling guiltily.

"Yeah, the boys and I just wanted to get our bags and such back, if you don't -"

"Do you want to stay?"

"Can you sing us something first?"

"Why are you wearing overalls?" "Can I have an autograph!?" The girls seemed content now as they dragged him into the room, sitting him down on a chair. He blinked, looking around hopefully for the bags belonging to him and his friends, when suddenly he heard sirens.

"Oh great, they've probably gone and gotten themselves arrested. Listen, I just need -"

"Well, we'll give you _your_ stuff, but the other three will have to come to get their bags themselves!" "Why?" George asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well, how should _we _know it belongs to your friends? You could be trying to take it from them for all we know!" one girl stated matter-of-factly. George rolled his eyes.

"Oh well, then. Can I have mine?" _The boys are gonna have to deal with this themselves, _he thought with a shrug. After a bit more pestering, he finally got out of the room carrying his bag and towel. Looking around, he saw police suddenly jog past him down the hallway. One of them paused next to him.

"You need to get somewhere safe. We've gotten calls of suspicious figures roaming the hotel." the cop warned. George blinked. That could only be us. Running alongside the police, he finally caught up to where they'd encountered Paul, who was ripping off his beard and glasses to try to prove who he was.

"It's Paul! Relax! John and Ringo are upstairs! We were just trying to -"

"Impostors! We didn't get any calls of the Beatles staying here!" "We didn't want too much publicity," Paul explained desperately, "Please, it's us! Can't you tell? I'm not a suspicious figure; I'm Paul McCartney!" "That's what they all say."

"No it isn't!" he looked at the police as if they were crazy. Turning to George hopelessly, he said, "People don't pretend to _be_ me, do they?" George just shrugged. It wouldn't surprise him.

"Are you one of them?" one of the police suddenly challenged George, who shook his head quickly.

"I'm just an innocent overalls-wearing guy, is all." he admitted. Paul looked at him with a bored expression, but the cop bought it. Police came down from upstairs now, holding John and Ringo, who had both abandoned their disguises - save for John, who was still wearing the long robe over his clothes.

"I'm fucking John Lennon! Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?" he challenged, and the police just shoved him along the hallway, though not without John putting up quite a struggle.

"I'm a cop, you cross-dressing delinquent! Move along!"

"They do look a lot like them, you know." one of the cops mentioned to George as they were passing by. George just gave him an incredulous look.

"They look _exactly_ like them." he said. The cop shrugged.

"They've never been here before. I don't see why they'd come. And there's only three of 'em! You can't claim to be the Beatles and leave one out!"

George grumbled something incoherently under his breath. The cop was leaving now, escorting the three boys towards the cars. The girls were standing in the doorway in shock, along with other people who had their doors open.

"See what you've gone and done now?" George accused, and the girls could only gawk as he ran past, going to find Mr. Jones.

Meanwhile, at the police station, John had finally taken off the dress he was wearing over his clothes; the three of them had been put in a temporary cell.

"I'm telling you, it's us!"

"Give it up Paul, they're not buying it." "Look, I'll even sing for ya - _Yesterday, love was such -" _"Don't even start!" John snapped, and the police cast confused glances towards the cell before turning back to the chief.

"We need official papers to make sure they are who they are before we can let them go, even if they are The Beatles." the man said, directing the last bit of his sentence towards the boys, who stared blankly from the bars of the single holding cell.

"George'll save us." Ringo finally said after some silence. Paul glanced back towards Ringo, who was sitting on the wall at the back of the little cell.

"He'd better!"

"Eppy won't be too happy 'bout this, will he?" John asked, referring to their manager.

"Oh, well. He doesn't really need to know. I don't see how he'd find out anyways." Paul shrugged, keeping his hands on the cell as he peered outwards, trying to see through the barred window on the door to the station. John just replied with a "Hmm." and rummaged in his jeans' pocket for his harmonica, on which he began to pick out a tune or so. The cops gave them yet another suspicious glance.

"He's playing harmonica," one of them whispered, "John Lennon plays the harmonica." "I play the harmonica, you dolt. Gonna call me John Lennon?" another one replied.

"Mr. Jones! Hey! Are you there, Mr. Jones?" George knocked on the door, finally putting his ear to it as he received no response. Confused, George took off in a run down the hallway. Eventually, he found himself out on the beach that the patios looked over - the patio of the room their manager was in was on the second floor. He could hear their own music playing from the room he stared at; _Day Tripper _was playing. Without thinking, George leapt onto the patio of one of the first floor rooms and then jumped, grabbing onto the railing of the second floor one and kicking his legs to try to climb up. Then he heard a scream. Glancing downwards, he saw a lady hitting his legs with her purse.

"Intruder! Intruder! You dirty pig! Get down!"

"No - no! I'm not -" George protested, kicking the purse out of her hands. It slid down the sand onto the beach. The lady then picked up a lawn chair and leaned backwards as she held it, finally coming forwards in an attempt to hit him. Before she could, however, he'd finally gotten his legs up and was climbing awkwardly over the railing until he jumped onto the patio of the second floor room. Looking sideways, he could see his manager sitting in a chair with a record player seemingly turned on full volume.

"Mr. Jones!" George called, holding his hands to his mouth. The man hadn't heard the woman screaming, and he obviously couldn't hear George.

"MR. JONES!" he yelled louder now, and the man jerked out of his seat, falling to the floor of the patio. Looking up in shock, the man threw his hand to his heart and exhaled.

"George! You nearly scared the living daylights out of me. What is it?" he asked, standing up and brushing himself off.

"They've got themselves arrested," George said, anticipating the shocked look that now took form on Mr. Jones's face, "We've got to get whatever papers we've got and go get them."

"Where are they?"

"The police station I guess." he shrugged. Mr. Jones shook his head, looking flustered.

"Well alright then, meet me in the lobby. I'll try and find something that should convince them." He looked as if he wanted to ask why they had been arrested, but held back and then disappeared into his room. George nodded, turning around and then peering down at the beach, which was much further away now than he thought it was. The door opened to the room he was standing outside of, and a man stepped out, looking surprised.

"And you are?" "Very lucky, thank you!" George darted past him, running through the stranger's room to the door to the hallway and then heading towards the lobby.

"It's been an _hour_ already," Paul complained.

"Oh shut it; you're just upset you don't have a comb to fix your hair with." John replied.

"I'm upset 'cos we're stuck in this little dump of a place! Sheesh, where's George?"

"I'm sure he's coming." Ringo assured them. More sirens could be heard from outside. John glanced sideways at the line of police men sitting on the other side of the room, chatting amongst each other.

"Mister city… p'lice men sitting, pretty little p'lice men in a row." he sang to the tune of the siren.

"That could make a song, you know." Paul pointed out.

After more and more waiting, the police started to take their keys and leave.

"Hey, what's happening?" Paul asked.

"We're closing for the night. Here, have some food." the cop passed him three sandwiches through the bars, which Paul took with a smile, and then realized what else he'd said.

"Wait, what? You're leaving us here overnight?!"

"Yeah, well. Sorry. Can't do much besides that." and with that the cop left, the door slamming shut and the lights blinking off, leaving Paul's gaping face staring through the bars. John grumbled something incoherently and then stood up, kicking the bars in frustration. Paul staggered backwards, surprised at the sudden vibration. Ringo let out a long sigh. Then they were quiet.

"Why are they arrested?!" "The police got calls of suspicious figures roaming the hotel." "_Suspicious figures!?_"

"Well, we disguised ourselves up and started knocking on room doors -"

"Why!?"

"Some girls stole our stuff on the beach, so -" "You nut-bars, I could have gotten that back! Wait, hang on; why aren't you arrested too?"

"Well I found the right room and took off my disguise, so they didn't take me."

Mr. Jones let out an exasperated breath and shook his head, not quite understanding the entire situation. By the time they finally got there, however, the place was closed.

"Wh-what? It's closed!?"

"I guess so," George said, confused. "This building is, at least."

"Goodness gracious, we'll have to come back in the morning."

"Sorry guys!" George yelled, and then left back to the hotel with the trip manager.

After a few hours, the night had taken over and Paul could see the moon through the tiny window of the cell. John was muttering to himself on the other side, scraping something into the wall with a nail he'd found.

"I'm sooo tired," he mused, singing quietly. "I haven't slept a wink…" Ringo, meanwhile, stood up, getting himself a sandwich from the pile of three that were sitting on top of a lone table in the corner of the room.

"Not bad!" he said, his voice muffled as he chewed. Paul glanced over and then let his shoulders drop, walking over and picking one up himself.

"This is just stupid! They can't just _leave_ us here," he started ranting as he opened the sandwich, finally letting out what he'd wanted to say before, "We're the Beatles! Just wait until morning when George comes, I swear. And then they'll be askin' us for autographs an' all that!"

"Well it's your own bloody fault, in'it, Paul?" John asked, looking up from where he was sitting. Paul looked at him.

"What makes you say that?"

"It was another one of your dumb ideas! Getting disguised and knocking on room doors, Christ. You should've expected it!"

"_I_ should have expected it?! You guys are the ones that went along with it! You dressed yourself up as a _woman_!"

"'Cos I was going along with your dumb idea!"

"Well? I didn't hear any of your bri -"

"Just have a sandwich, guys." Ringo said from where he was sitting, obviously not interested in hearing the two of them bicker. He tossed one to John, who caught it and started unwrapping it in frustration. Paul tossed his paper wrapping outside of the bars and started eating his, and then everything seemed to calm down a bit.

"I'm just frustrated," Paul said, swallowing a bite, "I wanted to go to the beach and swim, and read a book and have some coke, you know. We all wanted to."

"Yeah, well." Ringo cut in before John could open his mouth. Soon enough, however, they all fell asleep.

Finally the next morning, George and Mr. Jones showed up. John fell to his knees and lifted up his hands towards them.

"Oh, George! Thank _God _you arrived; they were gonna kill us I swear. They've been doing such terrible things to us, and here you've come to our rescue!" he mocked. The police looked to Mr. Jones, who slammed their travel papers down onto the desk.

"See this? See these names?" he pointed furiously at the names on each of the papers. "I hope that's enough evidence for you!" After some quick discussion, the cops nodded and released the boys with a million apologies. They came out shielding their eyes from the sun.

"_It burns!"_ John screamed mockingly, pretending to melt as they walked along.

"We should go to the beach," Ringo suggested. "We never got to last time." "One problem though," George said. "Those girls still have your stuff."

"You're kidding!" Paul exclaimed. "Didn't you get the right room?"

"Yeah, but they didn't give me your stuff, they only gave me mine. I me mine."

"You, you, yours." John said.

"Well, let's go get our stuff, then." Paul sighed, and they set off towards the hotel as George continued to the beach.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To the beach! I don't need to go through those girls again! Have fun. It's number twenty-three, and pick me up a hot dog or something while you're there." he added and then saluted them, bowing and heading towards the sand. The three of them exchanged glances and then went back to the hotel, locating the room. Knocking on the door, it was answered after a short wait. The girl who opened the door stood there with a shocked look on her face and then emitted a scream. John held his hands to his ears. The other four girls were there in a split second, gasping and fixing their hair. They waited impatiently for what the three boys had to say.

"We, uh, need our bags," Paul said, staring at them evenly, "You've got them."

"Sooo?"

"We want them back. That's theft, that is." Paul stated matter-of-factly, pointing a finger at them. The girls frowned.

"Listen, you don't want a bad reputation with us, do you girls?" John added, poking his head over Paul's shoulder. The girls looked at each other.

"Ok, well… come on in and get it." one of them said.

"Could you bring it to us?" Paul asked with a wink. "Wouldn't be very appropriate to go in ourselves." The girls seemed to mentally melt down, and then exchanged confused glances. Finally, one at a time, each of them went to grab an item.

"H-here you go." they stammered as they returned the items, Paul and John and Ringo taking their stuff respectively. "Thanks girls," Paul said as they finally, but reluctantly gave him his bag, "It was real nice of you to return it."

When they got to the beach, George was lying on a towel underneath an umbrella on the middle of the beach, wearing black sunglasses and reading a book.

"Those girls were funny."

"Funny? They took our stuff!" "I'd take our stuff too, you know, if I saw it on a beach."

"But they didn't even take the umbrella."

"How careless of them."

"Yeah. And taking it to their rooms. They should've hid it from us." "Scavenger hunt an' all?"

"How was it?" George asked, hearing their scattered talking as they approached. They shrugged and laid down their own towels, stripping into their bathing suits like George had already done.

"Are we going to go swim or what?" John asked, standing impatiently on the sand. Paul peered out towards the water.

"Gotta watch out for sharks," Ringo warned. "Man-eaters, they are."

Finally, the four of them got to enjoy a few days at the beach in Hawaii. However, they were still trailed by the girls who had stolen their stuff, and received too many smiles from the police, who now seemed to patrol around the hotel a lot more.


End file.
